I love Michael Beasley. I also just got back from vacation in Southern California. But I can’t wait to watch the Rockets game tonight to watch Michael Beasley. Normally, this year, I probably wouldn’t have cared. During the trip, I found myself checking [League Pass broadband on] my phone to see when Michael Beasley was in the game. My wife didn’t appreciate this. Sometimes I made her watch also. Michael Beasley and Brock Osweiler are two names she wishes she was not familiar with. If Michael Beasley was not in the game, I would put away my phone. If he was, I would wait to see the magic happen. The big jab step out of the triple threat. The soft, acrobatic left handed finishes. The glorious mid-range jumpshots that defy mathematical rationality but find their way into the bottom of the net, diversifying an oversimplified attack. Michael Beasley is the ghost of Hasheem Thabeet and Jonny Flynn (and also maybe Terrence Williams, except he was kind of good but had a terrible attitude while the other two were the worst basketball players I’ve ever seen); the realization and embodiment of the hope and potential of the #2 pick. Michael Beasley is the savior. Michael Beasley is Josh Smith reincarnated. Michael Beasley will lead the Rockets to a record of 42-40, one game above the dubious distinction of .500. Michael Beasley will lure Kevin Durant to Houston, forming the newest Big 3. And now I will go unpack before the game.
